#Obey the Riff

[crepuscularpete]

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

DOOM OR BE DOOMED!! -- OBEY THE RIFF!!

PIC INFO: Spotlight on guitarist/co-founder Tony Iommi of English heavy rock band BLACK SABBATH, performing live at the Gaumont in Southampton, England on June 25, 1980, during the band's "Heaven and Hell" era. 📸: Fin Costello.

"SPIN" MAGAZINE: "So, for "Heaven and Hell," the first SABBATH record for Ronnie in the band… I know Sharon Osbourne introduced you two. Did you already know him from RAINBOW or ELF?"

TONY IOMMI: "I’ve never met him before. I’d obviously heard him with Rainbow. I thought, ‘wow, God, he’s a  great singer.’ Never thought for one minute I’d end up being in a band with him. She introduced me to him at a party. Remember those?"

SPIN: "Ha, barely! Had she introduced you with the intention of you guys playing together?"

TONY: "Well, it was sort of mentioned because it came to a point within Sabbath where it was getting a bit sort of… I just wanted to do something. And we were coming to a bit of a halt at the time because of the situation [Ozzy’s partying]. I did mention the idea of doing something solo, as a different project. Ronnie was interested in that. And then when it came to when Ozzy was no longer with the band, I called Ronnie and said, ‘do you fancy coming over and having a play with us?’ He came over and the idea was just to have a jam, really. We did, and we were all impressed with what he did. And he liked what we did. It sort of went from there, really."

SPIN: "I know you worked at Criteria in Miami, home of the Bee Gees… how did you end up there to record "Heaven and Hell"? And, part two, there’s the story you lit drummer Bill Ward on fire… was it there?"

TONY: "Stop making me laugh! No, it wasn’t, actually, it was in London where I set him on fire. We had recorded at Criteria with Technical Ecstasy [in 1976]. We were in Los Angeles when it all blew up with Ozzy, and Don Arden [Sharon’s father] managed us at the time, and he was very difficult, and we were breaking away from him. So we didn’t want to stay in Los Angeles any longer. The idea was, ‘well, let’s go to Miami,’ so we went and stayed at Barry Gibb’s house. And wrote the album, really."

Source: www.spin.com/2021/03/tony-iommi-black-sabbath-dio-eddie-van-halen-interview.

[hellbentformetal]

A blessed Sabbath Sunday to all!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

49 / 1.5k / TF141's free use medic + lil riff on @majinbangus's words about Ghost trying to teach Soap how to take care of his toys.

...

"Is the collar really necessary?"

Ghost smirks, pulling the leash taut. "Are you really in any position to question us, love?"

You're forced to lean into him. A haughty scowl flashes across your face, but you smooth it back into cold, professional disdain. "No."

"That’s right. You’re not." His voice is a low, gruff rasp as he uses the leash to yank you closer against his solid body. "You’re not in any position to do anything except what you’re told, yeah? You got a problem with that?"

"No. Not one."

"Good." He smirks, his eyes running over you appraisingly. "Now, get on your knees."

You do as he says.

Gaz and Soap observe you and Ghost, stances relaxed and eyes sharp as knives.

"Look at that," Soap murmurs to Gaz. "She's already trained."

⬇ nsfw, dom/sub dynamics, free use, objectification, toxic polyamory

You cut a sideways glare at Soap out of the corner of your eye, but Ghost's fingers are still hooked into your o-ring. He forces you to look back up at him.

"Eyes on me," he growls. "You don't look at my boys without my permission, understood?" His cold voice is as soft as a knife sliding between your ribs, and he gives the steel o-ring a sharp, warning tug. "Or are you gonna be a handful this time?"

You stare up at him. You're aching, mind exhausted, body wired with too much energy. Restless. "Haven't decided," you tell him, voice low.

He likes it when you’re bratty. "Careful, love. You know the consequences for disobedience." You feel his hand thread into your hair, tugging it just a bit, forcing you to arch back against his grip. "If you’re gonna get smart with me, I'll gag that pretty mouth."

You shift, pulse speeding up. "Promise?"

Ghost's eyes darken. "Open."

You open your mouth just in time for him to grip your hair and slide his cock down your throat.

He keeps a tight hold, controlling you as you take him in. "That's right. Just like I trained you."

Soap can’t help but let out a soft groan of approval. His jaw is already tight from watching Ghost dominate you. You’re a pretty sight on your knees, even with your eyes turned away from him, even with the stab of jealousy in his gut. But you look so good like this Soap would watch you gag on anyone. Ghost isn't the worst option, anyway. Not when Soap knows you're still gonna be thinking about him.

But then Ghost starts rocking against your mouth, and Soap makes a soft, ragged sound, the sound of a man struggling to keep himself in check. "I want a go," he tells Ghost.

"No. Sit down."

Soap sulks, but obeys. With a grunt, he drops back onto the bed to watch. His pants are tight--he grips a fistful of fabric on each thigh in an attempt to keep himself occupied--but he won’t touch you until Ghost gives him permission.

His blue eyes smolder. He wants you. But Ghost is possessive about you, and Soap knows he has to follow his lead. He knows better than to go against a direct order.

Gaz smirks. He, too, knows better than to stir up conflict. He also knows better than to tease Soap right now.

"Gaz," Ghost says.

Gaz snaps to attention. "Sir."

"Bring the leather cuffs."

"Rog'."

Ghost's eyes never leave you as Gaz retrieves the leather cuffs from a duffel. They're soft with wear, but strong enough to withstand whatever bratting you intend to do. Strong enough to withstand the punishment, too.

"On her," Ghost orders Gaz, nodding toward your hands.

They're resting on Ghost's thighs as you continue working him in and out of your throat. You're hardly paying attention to their conversation until Gaz pulls your arms behind your back instead. You pull your arms away, gripping the back of Ghost's knee with one and slotting the other between your legs. You're not in the habit of making yourself easy to work with.

"What did I say, love?" Ghost's words are a low, warning growl. "Keep testing my patience. Give me a reason." He punctuates his words with a sharp, firm tug on your hair. "You want me to show you what happens when you misbehave?"

Gaz smirks, watching you lean away from him and into Ghost. He runs his fingertips down your arm, letting his hand travel between your legs to join yours. He grips it hard, pushing your greedy fingertips against your bare folds.

"Easy, doc," he mutters. "Nice 'n easy, yeah?"

You choke out a groan around Ghost, vision blurring at the rough handling. Your hips twitch forward. You need more.

And you feel Johnny's eyes on you, burning to be where Gaz is. So close to you.

Soap's body is taut, stretched far too tight, gripping his pant legs the way he's dying to get a grip on you. He can’t look away.

"Gaz," Ghost says, his eyes on Soap. "Don't be too rough. We don't want to break our toy again."

"Yeah, I remember," Gaz says with a smirk. He watches you grind against his fingers intertwined with yours, working on Ghost all the while. "Still. She looks like she can take a little bit of roughing up."

"Fuck off," Soap mutters.

"Careful, MacTavish," Gaz replies, cool as ever. "Jealousy’s not a good look on you."

"I get my turn," Soap snaps. "We've been over this."

"You get your turn with the medic when you learn to treat her nicer. Gaz," Ghost grunts, "that’s enough. Give her a second to breathe, and then get her wrists in those cuffs."

Ghost hooks his fingers through your collar again and pulls you away. You slide off him with a frustrated groan, fighting his grip. "Simon--"

"Greedy slut." He runs his palm down your cheek, possessive. He can feel how wound up you are right now, how much you want to play. He knows you need to be owned. "Pushing your limits won't get you rougher treatment. Not tonight. We're doing things how I want. You understand?" He gives your leash a sharp tug. "You're my medic. You do what I say."

You suppress an angry sigh, gulping in air instead as he strokes your face. The gesture is sweet, almost tender, and you don't want that. You want pain. You want tears. You want to be hollowed out and forget who you are.

"Fuck you." You let your head loll to the side and look over at the bed, leveling your heated gaze at Soap. "I want Johnny to touch me."

Soap's gaze glows with heat when you lock eyes with him. He hears you say his name, sees those pretty lips wrap around the syllables. The desire in his eyes is enough to make you shiver.

"Eyes on me." Ghost grips your face, forcing your traitorous eyes back to him. "You’re not getting him. He's not as gentle with you as I am. You know what happened last time."

"I like how he hurts me," you mutter. Shame prickles down your throat.

"Don't say that." A possessive edge sharpens his tone. He's not going to let Soap have you. "You want me to give you more. You don't want to be hurt. Soap is too rough."

You stare up into Ghost's face, naked as you are except for the collar and the cuffs as Gaz finishes securing them. But your gaze is cold and serious. You've never lied to Ghost before. Why would you start now?

He holds your gaze. You pretend at rebellion, but it's a ploy. You're already wet and malleable; you're still aching to wrap your lips around his cock again.

Still. He doesn't like when you get stubborn like this. Doesn't like being wrong. Doesn't like the thought of not satisfying you as much as Soap does. You should know he can give you the pain you need. He knows your limits; Soap doesn't. He can't give you to him. Not when Soap has demonstrated how little he's willing to control himself with you.

"That so?" Ghost's voice is a low snarl. "I’m sure Johnny wants that too." He glances back over at Soap, who's starting to look uneasy. "Looks like he's already trying to imagine it. Should we give him a better view, love?"

"Si--!"

Before his name can leave your mouth, Ghost is wrenching you up and forward, bending you over the dingy hotel room's countertop. He pulls the leash taut and winds the end several times around your leather wrist cuffs to force your back to arch.

Gaz smirks to himself, watching you arch against Ghost's grip. He sits on the bed, eyes on you as you struggle against his Lieutenant.

Soap has to lean forward from his position on the bed, jaw tight, eyes glittering as he drinks in the sight. Ghost grabs your ass and spreads you apart to make sure Soap can see.

"You think he's entitled to your body," Ghost growls, lining his cock up with your weeping slit and prodding his thumb cruelly hard against your asshole. "Fine. I'll show you both what happens to broken toys."

...

more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / more free use medic / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[krenenbaker]

so, it seems people would like the more detailed analysis of the songs!

I'll - of course - still be giving my thoughts, but I'll look a little closer at the theoretical sides of things ^w^ it'll take a bit longer, since it'll be a deeper look at the songs, so I don't know exactly when I'll post them. but I'm super excited to really bite my teeth into these pieces!

okay, I think I may actually do a little musical analysis of the Obey Me! character solos. but before I get into it, I'd like to know what sort of analysis people would be more interested in seeing

in either case, I'll be talking about the songs, how it reflects their characters, and some of my favourite parts / lines in each one :)

[nana-au]

(yuji, choso, & sukuna drabble)

warning: sorta suggestive content.

thinking about being the brother's (& half brother choso's) best friend. you spent your entire childhood with them, even sticking together into early adulthood. you adored them, feeling incredibly lucky to have such loyal friends.

but unbeknownst to you, the three of them had long since considered you just a friend. they constantly fought to be at the center of your attention; even sukuna who would never stoop so low as to get hung up on some girl was joining his brother's pathetic attempts to get you alone. because to all of them — you weren't just some girl. you were their girl.

you found it strange at first when they started inviting you to hang out alone — but you would never complain. the three brothers all had their own unique hobbies and interests.

the time spent with choso was comforting, consisting of you two sharing your favorite songs while laying in his bed or listening to a new riff he learned on his bass guitar. (you once complimented him on his talented fingers and sent him into a coughing fit for about 5 minutes). you loved going on long night walks with him; breathing in the crisp air while your fingers brushed against each other's, the music blaring in your shared ear buds. the two of you used music (or really any art in general) to connect. for your birthday, he bought the both of you tickets to your favorite band for your birthday. he had to put in overtime at his job for an entire month to afford them, but you were worth it.

hanging out with yuji was always a blast. the two of you would go to the movies, sharing a large popcorn and a soft drink of your choosing (yuji would always insist you choose the drink flavor. he loved anything you did). other times you would sit in the stands of yuji's games — in complete awe of his physical abilities. he would smile up at you as you cheered him on, always making sure to point your way after scoring a goal. other times when he knew you were looking he would lift his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, exposing his toned abs (he loved sneaking a peek to catch you ogling him). at the end of each game, you would run up to embrace him, jumping into his arms and squealing as he spun you in circles. he would apologize for getting his sweat on you but you never seemed to care.

being in sukuna's company was a thrill. he would take you for a ride on his motorcycle — racing down back roads to hear you squeal from the speed. before you were of legal age he would sneak you into dingy bars, taking shot after shot with you — enjoying watching drunk you blush and giggle at his flirtations (you always thought he was just trying to be silly, but nothing was silly about the intense way he looked at you). he even took you to get your first tattoo, helping you pick the perfect place on your body to hide it from your parents. (he insisted between your tits would surely go unnoticed). he would even take you to underground fights when you had mentioned the fact you liked to watch boxing — insisting he knew a place that showed some real fights. (all though when you didn't obey his rule of sticking by his side and he caught you smoking cigarettes outside with some skeevy loser he no longer allowed you to accompany him there).

the three of you still hung out together — playing video games or going bowling as a group. it was nice to hang out with the three of them at once. getting to experience your favorite people in the world all at the same time. the brother's would do their very best to behave in front of you — but how could you possibly miss the 'subtle' gut punches and eye rolls shot at each other each time one of them got a little too close to you?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 31

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Steve plies you with kisses to the point you can’t breathe. You can’t get away from him. Your top hangs beneath your chest, exposing you to him and the cooling air. He purrs and nuzzles your hair as he pulls you against him once more. 

“It’s getting late,” he purrs, “we should go inside. How about a movie night, sweetie? You and me?” 

You stare at his neck, too ashamed to look higher than that. His hands squeeze your hips and he wiggles his, reminding you of his excitement and your unbidden need. You hate that you feel this way, that you burn each time he touches you. 

“Okay,” you murmur, hoping only for a little bit of space. 

“Mm, alright,” he slips his hands up your sides and grabs the straps of your bathing suit, he raises them up to your shoulders and ties a knot behind your neck. He traces the edges and fixes the wet fabric across your tits, giving a squeeze before he wades backward, “mm, that looks so good on you... how about you go get changed? I left a surprise on your bed.” 

You nod and follow him to the ladder. He lets you go first, tickling the back of your thigh as you climb out. He stays back to close the pool and your heartbeat slowly calms, though you know it’s far from over. 

You’re sluggish as you get to the back door. It’s like you’re stuck in a fog. You know exactly what is happening, what he wants, but knowing you can’t stop any of it has you apathetic. You can only let it happen. 

You go upstairs and pause at the top. You peek down at Steve’s door. It’s closed. Your mom’s in there, she must be. Hidden away. Locked up as you deceive her. 

You continue into the guest room. Your room now, as he calls it. You go to the foot of the bed and stare at the night gown spread across the duvet. It’s a pale blush colour, the top is cotton but the skirt is sheer with a shimmery liner underneath. There’s a frill around the hem and a bow along the chest. 

You strip off the swimsuit and put it to dry on the window ledge. You retreat and cover yourself with the nightie. It’s too small. You’re about to pop out of it as the thin straps are stretched to their limit, you feel your bum peeking out the bottom. 

You try not to let the horror sink too deep. No use in crying. Nothing you can do. You leave the room and descend. The sliding door shuts and you hear Steve in the kitchen. 

You go out to see him with a towel around his waist. Even through the extra layer, his erection prods. He’s mopping up the wet spots you left on the floor. You hang your head, “sorry, I didn’t...” 

“No worries, sweetie,” he looks up beneath his blonde lashes, “oh, baby, you look...mm, you get some popcorn going and choose a movie. I’ll finish this up and get changed.” 

“Right,” you agree and go to the counter, stopping cluelessly before the cupboard. 

“In the pantry,” he points to the narrow door on the other side of the fridge, “bowls are up there.” 

You turn to see him point. You give another nod and obey. It’s easy to do the little things. What, in the end, will hardly matter. 

You enter the pantry and search out a box of popcorn, taking out a bag, and return to the kitchen. He’s gone. You’re not comforted by his absence. You put the bag in the microwave and grab a big bowl from the cupboard. You wait, watching the numbers count down, your pulse picking up with each digit. 

You pour the hot kernels into the bowl and toss the bag. The smell is not so delicious as your stomach churns. You go to the living room and set down your heaping snack on the low table. You take the remote and sit on the section. 

You click on the first title that pops up on the screen. Some redundant romantic comedy you never heard of. You set down the remote and teeter on the edge of the couch. You lower your head and fold your hands. You can’t prepare yourself for what comes next. 

Steve appears before the intro credits end. He comes around as you sit back and he lowers himself next to you. He wears only a pair of boxers. You gulp at your quick glance of his naked torso and legs. 

He’s not looking at the screen and you can feel it. He leans back, slipping his arm over your shoulders. You try to curl into yourself. 

“That nightie, sweetie,” he pets your leg just beneath the hem, “you like it?” 

You nod, “mhmm. It’s... soft.” 

“How about tomorrow I take you to buy some more? We can get you all sorts of stuff? Cute clothes, maybe some toys...” 

“Toys?” you blink. 

“To play with...” his fingertips trail up your leg, “to experiment...” 

He leans in as the television glares in your vision. You stare at the blurring hues as he presses his lips to your temple. You whimper as his hand creeps over the skirt of the nightie and along your stomach. He cups your chest, kneading and fondling, purring as he grazes your cheek with his mouth. 

“Kiss me, sweetie,” he commands. 

You turn your head and meet his lips. He pulls you into him, urging you up onto him as he lays back on the long couch. You turn onto your stomach to keep your mouth on his, your hands on his broad chest. He growls into you as his hand slips up to the back of your head, his other squeezing your chest greedily. 

You moan as you feel a pluck. He drags his hand along your chest and shoulder, following the length of your arm. He guides your hand from beneath you and along his muscled stomach. You squeak as you touch the top of his boxers. He tilts you to once side as your lips part and you try to resist his strength. 

“It’s okay, baby, I just want you to feel me,” he pushes your hand under the fabric and his throbbing tip pokes you. You whimper as he presses your hand around it and groans, “that’s for you, baby. That’s how sexy you are.” 

Your eyes widen as you look him in the face, his blue irises smokey and slitted. You poke your tongue out to wet your lips, shunting out breaths as your chest swells. He moves your hand lower, angling it to wrap around him. He’s thick... or feels like it. He keeps his hand around yours as he guides you down to his base and back up. 

“How does that feel?” 

You can’t speak. You just gape at him. He smirks. 

“Give me another kiss,” he says. 

You do what he says. What else can you do? You tremble as he pumps your hand over him, up, down. You feel the veins beneath the taut skit and a trickle of wetness as you reach the tip. He groans again and pulls away from your mouth once more. 

“Oh, sweetie,” he takes your hand from his boxers and twines his fingers through yours. He kisses your knuckles and rolls his hips, “you are so good.” 

You hide your face as his hand slips from your head and he hooks his arm around you. He sits up and swiftly flips you, spreading himself over you. He smothers you with a kiss. You murmur around his tongue as it invades your mouth. He rocks his pelvis into you, your legs splayed around him. 

He lifts himself away, nibbling longingly on your lip before pulling back completely. He pets your shoulder and rubs his fingertip over the strap of the night, urging it down. 

“I wanna try something, sweetie, stay just like this,” he says. 

He pushes himself up to his knees. He pulls down the other strap and frees your chest. You quiver and stare at the ceiling. He moves over you, straddling your stomach as he tugs down the elastic of his boxers. You squeak again and dig your nails into the cushion. 

Your eyes sting with tears. He strokes himself as his boxers crumple beneath his dick. You can’t look. Don’t look. He shifts further up your torso and hovers over your chest. You seal your lips fearfully. 

He gropes your chest and bounces it. He lowers himself, angling so his dick is between your tits. He pushes them together and tilts back, then forward, his tip hitting your chin as you yelp. He hushes you and does it again, again, again. Each time quicker than the last. More desperate. 

He thrusts and the friction grows hot. He groans and growls, rutting as he shakes the cushions with his frantic motion. You turn your head as he fucks your tits. You hear a noise, a click, then a creak. There’s a soft drone then Steve’s name. It’s your mom! 

“Steve,” she calls again from up the stairs, “where...” her voice trails off and you hear a thump on the wall, “honey, please...” 

Steve moves his hand over your chest, pressing his hand to the front of your tits to keep them together as he uses the other to cover your mouth. His face strains as he fucks harder and harder. He huffs and suppresses a snarl as he hangs his head back. There’s a slicky heat over your face as you close your eyes against the sudden explosion. 

He cums in thick ribbons over your chin and lips, up to your nose and cheeks, even your forehead. He quakes as you hear your mom struggling to get down the stairs. The couch lurches as he puffs and pushes himself off of you. You stay there, paralysed, hiding beneath your eyelids. 

“Steve,” your mom whines. 

“Honey, what’s going on?” He calls back, his voice raspy and dry. 

“I don’t feel right,” her words slog heavily, as if she can barely form them. 

“Let me get you back to bed,” he coos, “what’re you doing up?” 

“I dunno...” she slurs. She sounds senseless and her footsteps are uneven and staggered. 

“Come on,” Steve coaxes, “it’s fine. I got you.” 

[aylasology]

Rocket Queen

A guitar solo and the finishing touches.

warnings : smut!! Fingering and oral. Using cocaine. Reader gets fucked in a recording studio 😭

notes : jeez this was long. This is a part of my rockstar!Robin x groupie!reader universe btw! Check her out here :) Here's my birthday treat from me to you 🫶

Heels tap on the hardwood floor as you watch her sing. Her hands shoved in the pockets of her flare jeans, blue eyes tinted red as her heart shaped glasses slip on the bridge of her nose. Robin Buckley is a rockstar in the flesh - and she is in her element.

Her tall frame stands by a microphone. Her voice has a rasp in it, a strong low voice that no one could compete with.

"I'm a sexual innuendo in this burned out paradise, if you turn me on to anything you better turn me on tonight."

Her eyes shoot to you. A shit-eating smirk on her face as she kept singing. You could remember how she wrote this song so vividly. On her bed, you sprawled naked underneath the sheets as she lay next to you with a pen and a notebook in hand. Tapping to a melody she hummed quietly. The notebook was on a blank page, scribbles and crossed out words on the other side.

Robin was convinced that this next album was going to be a hit. She was convinced that her vocals, and the band's distinct sound is gonna take them somewhere. She was strong in her belief and you couldn't help but believe it too.

You don't know what it was about her that made her so magnetic. It was something beyond looks, something beyond that voice that made you let her toy you around and use you. Maybe it was the thrill? The thrill of getting caught and getting outed? The thrill of finally getting touched by a woman? You couldn't lay a finger on it.

Their guitarist, Eddie Munson, started playing his riff, fingers fast in its movement as it moved against the fretboard. Stiff in her movement however, Robin's eyes squeezed shut, a serious look on her face as if she was deep in thought. You knew what this look meant, the look that said something was wrong. Something didn't align to whatever artistic sound she had in mind.

"Eddie wait."

Eddie stopped playing. A resounding, rather pissed off "what?" Slipping from his lips. Robin's eyes wandered in thought, eyes wandering to you. She looked you up and down, eyes wandering on the tiny skirt you've decided to wear. A thought comes to mind.

"Uh, just keep playing actually..."

After recording, a pair of hands snake from behind your waist, tugging onto the fabric of your shirt. Robin.

"Hey sweetheart..." She cooed, peppering kisses on the skin of your neck. "I can just eat you up.." she murmured in between the kisses. Robin always seemed so drunk in love when it came to you. You were never sure if it was love, but you were sure of one thing : you aroused her.

"Robin..." you chuckled as she had turned you to face her, pulling you in the recording booth. Everyone had dispersed out of the studio by now, the room suddenly so chilly and quiet.

"Shh, sweetheart..." She cooed. "Need something from you really quickly..." She murmured, pressing your back against a beat up leather couch, pushing a microphone next to you. "Gonna need a quick little fix 'fore I ask for a favor m'kay?"

A little nod was all it took for her to lay you down completely, pulling out a small plastic bag with white powder in it - cocaine. She lifts your shirt up, a small but demanding "bite" grunts out of her lips. Quick to obey, you bit the fabric of the shirt to keep it up.

She adjusts herself, straddling your hips as she sat on you, eyes hungry as she took in the sight of your body. The curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, your already erect nipples. Of course you didn't wear a bra.

She rips the plastic to form a little hole, cocaine on your belly and all the way up the middle of your breasts. You could hear her groan, the sight of you enough for her to completely ravish you.

"So pretty this way...just a pretty little thing for me to use..."

She bends down, pressing a kiss on your skin before sniffing down the powder. A hand on the curve of your hips, words slipping out of her mouth every time she'd sit up to just look at you.

"Such a perfect little slut....you gonna let me abuse you, honey?"

"Such a good girl for me...god, you're perfect."

And as a small trail is left in between the perfect globes of your breasts, her tongue prods out of her mouth, licking the skin and the cocaine off of it. Her eyes stare up at you, needy eyes that could tell everything she wanted to do to you.

"Robin..." You could only whimper, mouth waiting and cunt soaked in anticipation. The heat inside your skirt boiling.

She leans closer to your face. "I know, princess, I know..." She cooed, before pressing her tongue onto yours. The taste of cocaine landed on your tongue, a hand kneading one of your breasts and the other cupped onto your face.

Her kisses seemed eager, and they felt as though they were waiting for a reaction. And when she gains that soft moan from you, she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting each other's tongue.

"Gonna need more from you, sweetheart..." She groaned. She pulls away from your body, ordering you to sit up. She pulls your skirt down, a smirk on her lips as she feels your panties soaked.

"All this for me?" She teased, fingers tracing circles on the wet patch, your legs shaking in anticipation.

"Robin..." You cried, an awkward blush on your plump cheeks.

"Oh so you're blushing now too? Fuck sweetheart, you're just so cute..."

"Robin!" You groaned, absolutely having enough of the teasing. A chuckle erupts from her lips as she pulled the panties off. Her hands gripped onto your ankles, holding your legs up as her finger pushes in deep, slow strokes. A moan slipping from your lips.

"There she is..." She hummed, a chuckle slips from her lips as she watched your face contort in pleasure. She adds another finger, her pace moving quicker as she spreads your legs wider. "Gonna need you real loud for me sweetheart..."

Without waiting for a response, she pushes your legs further, you moan softly in pain, but she's fucking you too good for you to want it to stop. "Feel good sweetheart?"

"Fuck..." You cry out. "Yes..fuck...yes..." You moaned as you lay your head against the arm rest of the couch. A plethora of moans and cries falling from your lips as she spread your folds open.

And as a familiar, twisting knot forms in your stomach, her fingers pull away. A soft, but reassuring "We're not done yet..." hums from her lips.

She adjusted herself, keeping your legs spread open as she kissed your thighs and stomach. And before you could complain on how much of a tease she was, she dipped lower. Licking your sensitive clit before moving inside your folds immediately.

You moaned against the sensation. Robin's tongue was warm and eager and sloppy and it was perfect against you. It found and abused nerve endings, unbridled pleasure taking over your being.

Your fingers grasp onto her hair, hips bucking against her mouth as your slick and her spit seemed to drip on her chin and onto the couch. Your moans came out in hurried grunts. Your thighs squeeze her face, as suffocating as it was she didn't care - she felt as though she could happily die like this, head in between your thighs and a mouth lapping up pussy. Your pussy. Your moans continued to sound desperate, a slight crack in them and a rasp that only Robin could recognize. Robin was the only person who touched you like this.

The knot in your stomach comes undone, sticky fluids of your release all over her lips and cheek. She pulled away, letting you watch her swallow it all down. She leans close to your face, kissing your cheek. "You did so good, sweetheart..."

Before you could say anything, your body is instantly hit with exhaustion. Pretty eyes of yours fluttering shut as you lay there with a pillow on your head and another on your hand. A chuckle slips from Robin's lips.

"I'll let you rest, m'kay? I'll be here when you wake up."

And she was there in the studio once you woke up, tampering with the audio of their recording session from earlier. You could hear her play it, legs wobbly as you stood up and walked over to her.

You could hear the guitar solo in full blast, though another sound seemed to be playing alongside it. The sound of what could be considered as lips smacking together in a kiss, which then lead to needy and desperate moans. The moans held a crack in them, a rasp that bubbled from the throat. Desperate and loud, and...wait...

"Robin, was that...?"

"Yes sweetheart, that was you." She replied with a cocky smile, lifting your hand up to her lips. "You always told me how much you wanted to be a muse..." She muttered before kissing the skin.

[lilietsblog]

the patriarch

So I saw on my dashboard a question someone asked someone else along the lines of "who is patriarchy? who is doing the oppression"?

The answer was basically "patriarchy is not a who", which is of course semantically correct, but. Yeah there is actually a "who" figure involved! The person noun patriarchy is derived from or derives from itself: The Patriarch, literally "the father who rules". I'm sure this word is familiar to most of the audience, though I've seen "matriarch" come up more, recently, Encanto and all. That means "the mother who rules", and it's actually a very simple riff on the same basic patriarchal concept, though I'll get to it. Who is the patriarch?

Let's start from the top: the ultimate patriarch is, of course, the Christian God, our Father who is in Heaven*. He's in charge of the universe because he made it, and he's the ultimate moral authority. He decides what's good and what's bad, what's right and what's wrong. Disagreeing with him is heresy; saying mean things about him is blasphemy; holding someone else as a greater authority is idolatry. All of these things are bad, not because of some consequence they have, but definitionally, in themselves. Obeying God is what "good" means, disobeying God is what "bad" means. When you're Christian, you argue about other things being good or bad on the basis of whether you think they go against the God's plan or are an indelible part of it. It's not up to real discussion whether or not God's plan is good, like you can discuss why some parts of it suck, but all of it comes with the understanding that the fundamental axiom is that the plan is good, it's what good is.

*obviously other cultures with other gods exist, but I'm not familiar enough to weigh in, so let's just take this as an example, ok?

The next level down we have the Divine Right of Kings. A king is in charge because God said so; authority flows top down. A king being in charge is definitionally good, disobeying the king is definitionally bad. An usurper or pretender to the throne is bad not because of what they did in the process or once they have power, they're bad because they're defying the order of the rightful king being in charge, which is again definitionally bad, in itself. Restoring the rightful heir to the throne is definitionally good and doesn't require any justification, it's right there in the word "rightful". It's just right.

(I am skipping, like, the church hierarchy, the noble hierarchy, all that good stuff, because they are basically more of the above echoed further down, not a separate thing to look at)

Then we have the original in terms of human history, the most fundamental unit: Family. Patriarch means the Father who rules, and if there's any justification behind God being in charge, it's that he's all of our father: and so, the father rules definitionally. "Head of the household" has historically been a legal concept: there's one person that the rest of the household belongs to, literally as his property that he can do with as he sees fit. Slaves have historically (occasionally?) been counted as part of the family, because they also belong to the head of the household, and while there's legal distinctions in what kind of property they are, it's still really under the same umbrella. This is why there's a group of conservatives absolutely incensed about the idea of a wife voting differently than her husband in secret: under patriarchy, a wife is not a separate legal entity who belongs to herself, she's beholden to the head of the household, and if she has things of her own that's his wealth, extended.

Note that in a family, the patriarch isn't every guy. Each household has one head, no matter how many people are living together. The oldest living man of the seniormost generation, occasionally delegating to the next seniormost guy (his brother or son or son-in-law) if he's incapable or doesn't want to deal with it - but ultimately still holding the cultural + legal authority to contradict and punish this second guy if he's not living up to expectations.

You get to be a patriarch when all of the elder generation dies, or when you move out and start your own household - though depending on how far away you've moved and the exact influence/wealth/title dynamic you might still be ultimately beholden to the patriarch-er patriarch, in much the same way kings are beholden to god. The patriarch-er patriarch isn't really supposed to interfere with what's yours to be patriarch over, but he can absolutely order YOU around, and of course he can interfere with whatever he wants if he's really cross with you.

If you're a younger brother, a son, or god forbid something like a nephew, you're not a patriarch. You're a minion. You're a minion who will one day probably be a patriarch in his own right, which puts you in a different position than the women of the household, but this doesn't put you in charge except insofar as the actual patriarch authorizes.

Hey, remember when I mentioned slaves? There's yet another patriarchy-derived fundamental unit: the workplace. See, "companies" and "legal entities" and "corporations" are actually fairly new as a concept, historically speaking. In a more traditional view, any sort of business is associated with one specific household and one specific person who's in charge of that household, aka, one of the patriarchs I'd already brought up. The business and the family are not fundamentally distinct: sure they strictly speaking are, but your apprentice depending on the culture might literally be considered one of your children / a sibling to your children (Ace Attorney fans, shoutout to the von Karma family, hey!), and you probably want to marry them (him) to your daughter to secure the connection. Anyone who's working for you, be they a maid cleaning your floors or a hired worker striking metal in your forge, are subordinate to the same you the patriarch. If your son has his own independent business, that means he's moved out - if he has one while still in, that's something under your authority that you're just graciously allowing him to handle. The boss and the head of the family are the same concept.

(Meaning, once again, that "the patriarch" is not every man working in the place, but the one very specific guy, even if they might be patriarchs of their own families outside of the workplace)

(And then we have the concept of serfdom, where the boss owns you and your family actually in a literal way, with variedly little distinction from slavery proper. I'm sure you can follow the patterns)

Where does the matriarch all come into this? Well, patriarchy involves choosing who rules based on two criteria: gender, and generational seniority. And sometimes the two come into conflict! If there's a mother and a young son, of course the mother is in charge. If there's a mother and adult daughters, of course the mother is in charge. What if there's a mother and an adult son, what then? Well, that's going to depend on the legal system of wherever this situation is taking place, but culturally, this is going to hugely depend on the personalities involved. A sufficiently bossy woman who doesn't have a husband or father to override her decisions with the cultural authority of the actual patriarch (even if he's cowed and emotionally abused and under her heel, if there's a conflict the rest of the family is going to recognize his authority to override her on a technical level) - a sufficiently bossy woman who doesn't have a man to override her becomes a matriarch.

A matriarch still benefits from the fundamental ideas of patriarchy: it's wrong to contradict her because it's wrong, definitionally. Creating you / being your parent means having a legal and ethical right to you. If you're a serf or a slave or a hired worker, you belong to her household and she has a mother's authority over you to whatever degree you fail to hold on to your boundaries or to whatever degree she's actually legally entitled to it. Depending on the exact culture and time period involved, the legal system may well privilege the matriarch to the same degree as the patriarch, in absence of an actual local patriarch to hold the authority. The only truly independent woman is a widow, I'm sure you've gotten some cultural echoes of this over your life.

And depending on the exact patriarchal culture, it might well be possible for a woman to be culturally recognized as the head of a particular household even while married. Some cultures' patriarchy is more weakly gendered, and is more about the core concept: parents rule. Someone is fundamentally, definitionally in charge, and gets to decide what is good and what is bad for those in their authority. Going against them is definitionally wrong. They are entitled to you and everything you own.

(Ukraine, both modern and historically, as far as I know, has this more weakly gendered version. It's just as wrong to go against your mother as against your father. A woman beating her husband with a cast iron pan or rolling pin because he's drinking is a core cultural image, and not portrayed as necessarily wrong - it's more of a comedic image, which ties back into sexism and "women can't hurt men meaningfully", because while sexism and patriarchy are closely related they are ultimately two different things about two different questions: sexism asks "what are men and women's differences" while patriarchy asks "so who's in charge here". A woman may well be in charge here; a large, muscled, tall woman who is physically stronger than her husband is a reasonably accepted idea. This actually boils back over into sexism and invisible household work: a woman in charge of the household holds a job (thanks soviet union) AND cooks, cleans, handles finances etc (thanks soviet union's fundametal failure to dismantle the concept of family and handle everything communally instead, because that's not how humans work no matter what communism as a philosophy says) (seriously, they tried, there are apartment houses to this day where the kitchen is combined with the bathroom in the floor plan because nobody's supposed to cook at home, you eat at work / in the age-appropriate looking-after-children institution) and yes of course she's the ultimate authority over the household. Russian and Ukrainian have two gendered versions of the word meaning "master / host / owner", male and female, where both have give-or-take equivalent authority over household matters. It's complicated and really interesting in a comparative analysis to US's culture)

tl;dr, the intended takeaway: under patriarchy principles, not all men get to be patriarchs.

(This is why "men are also oppressed under patriarchy" is fundamentally true, not as some sort of weird exception or unintended blowback. Patriarchy is the older generation having morally fundamental, unquestionable authority over the younger generation. That's not gendered, just the exact consequences are)

[crepuscularpete]

[666writingcafe]

Obey Me x RHPS

RHPS: Rocky Horror Picture Show (so, no Luke for obvious reasons)

RAD has decided to put on a production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show! Who gets what part?

Brad Majors: Simeon

is among a sizable group of people auditioning for the part

still remains on stage after being told that the audience will be yelling "asshole" every time Brad's name gets mentioned

audition involves singing Brad's verse in "Rose Tint My World"

is the only one that can hit the high note in that verse without having his voice crack

Janet Weiss: a fairly young but sweet female demon

Dr. Frank-N-Furter: Lucifer, Mephistopheles as Understudy

Lucifer honestly was just there at the auditions to watch initially

watching other people fail to bring the character to life, however, irritated him

is a big fan of RHPS and so knows that whoever performs Dr. Frank-N-Furter cannot hold anything back

the only person that he feels came even remotely close to channeling the spirit of the character was Mephistopheles

of course, admitting that would do a number on his pride, and so he gets up from his seat and basically shows everyone how it's done

Mephistopheles is understandably pissed, because damn it, why does Lucifer have to take everything away from him? And why does he have to be the former angel's understudy?

Riff-Raff: Satan

was hesitant to audition at first

that is, until he knew that the character gets to kill Dr. Frank-N-Furter in the end

then he's all in, because he's not going to let the opportunity to mess with Lucifer slip away from him

Magenta: a fellow friend of Satan's

Columbia: Asmo

honestly, the part was kind of written for him

enough said

Dr. Everett V. Scott: Solomon

considering that Lucifer and Solomon are (sort of) rivals as it is, the part's perfect for him

plus, he doesn't have to sing, and his singing is about on par with his cooking

Rocky Horror: Diavolo

this man...

he literally jumped at the opportunity to play Rocky

a, he gets to be shirtless

b, he can lean into his more goofy side

c, he's familiar enough with the story to know that Dr. Frank-N-Furter created Rocky to essentially be his sex toy (and we all know how gay Diavolo is for Lucifer, so...)

Lucifer tried to talk Diavolo out of auditioning for the part but failed to do so (because once Diavolo's mind is made up, it's pretty much impossible to change it)

Eddie: one of Asmo's male flings

The Criminologist/Narrator: MC

the production was their idea in the first place

they're not super confident in their singing voice (hence why they're not playing Janet)

Transylvanians/Floor Show Audience Members: various RAD students (including Mammon)

Crew

Director: MC

Head Costume Designer: Levi

Head of Makeup/Hairdressing: Asmo

Head Set Designer: Beel

Head Sound and Lights Technician: Barbatos

Head Choreographer: Mammon

[aspiringtrashpanda]

As today marks the first ever Obey Me! virtual concert, I would like to share a thought.

There are plenty of good songs to open the show. Devil's Way is a front runner, as it has just made its (long awaited) debut in Nightbringer season 3, and Anniversary is an option, as it is the newest group release.

HOWEVER, if they don't start with It's My Party, I am going to have to throw hands. It's the perfect way to kick things off. Think about it... Everything goes dark as the opening synth riff echoes - not the whole part, though. Just the da-da-dada synth. Once, twice, three times. There's an extended pause between bursts, then on the fourth time, the whole riff plays. Lights slowly illuminate 7 silhouettes just as Asmo says, "The party is about to start!" Back lights pulse to the beat, the shadows standing still. As Mammon steps to the front with his "Hey look! Here we come!", the lights finally flash at full power. A yellow spotlight shines on Mammon as he starts the song off, the others still silhouettes in the back. Trade off with Lucifer in a blue light. Then Asmo in pink (if the lights don't follow the beat of "Hai hai hai" then what are you even doing, Solmare), and Levi in orange.

Now, when Belphie starts the pre-chorus, the previous pattern should change. To differentiate the verses from the chorus, the boys now become visible all at once - not just the one singing. Cue a busy chorus with choreography and crazy lights. Then, the second verse follows the same style as the first.

This is not unlike the music video the VAs did, highlighting each part in the verses while the others are shadowed in the back. The inspo is right there. It's the perfect start to the concert. Please Solmare, I'm begging you.

(also if my prediction is right, please hire me.)

[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

~Yandere!𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 & Yandere!𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 x Reader Headcanons~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Note(s): Reader is a human, it only takes like 10 hrs to get to Transylvania bc this is fanfiction and I don't have to obey the laws of time and space, I'm not writing Magenta and Riff as being in a relationship together for obvious reasons even though they are in the movie so they're just both crushing hardcore on the Reader in this

Warning(s): Yandere behavior, kidnapping, brief non-con + mentions of sex, cannibalism, drugging the reader, delulu aliens, etc. Minors DNI. Don't like it? Don't read it. You are responsible for your own content consumption.

~~~~~

"MASTER! DINNER IS PREPARED!" 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 announced proudly, a smile lighting up her pale face as she struck a confident pose for presentation. Unfortunately, she only was met with an aggravated Frank-N-Furter, who gave her nothing more than a minimal dismissive wave of his hand in return. "...Excellent," he breathed exasperation. Magenta's mood was quickly dimmed. Her big grin slowly faded into a grimace.

Suddenly, she wasn't so proud of herself for the meal she had prepared...that is, until you tried to make up for Frank's lack of excitement by offering Magenta a grateful smile, and complimenting her cooking at dinner (while remaining unaware that she had cooked and served poor Eddie). You were so darling. Magenta had taken notice of every time you supported her, spent time with her, and loved her when Frank wouldn't.

𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 shouted as Frank kicked him in the back, sending him toppling onto the ground. What had he done to deserve it this time? Making a single mistake by raising the machine too high, and failing to lower it exactly when Frank wanted him to? Riff Raff grunted and lifted himself off the ground, returning to crank the handle counterclockwise. He briefly lifted his head, catching a glimpse of your worried expression, and the way you instinctively began to trot over to make sure he was alright.

Riff Raff shook his head no, and put his right hand out in a "stay there" motion. It wouldn't do any good for you to get in trouble for helping him. Just seeing that you wished to tend to him was enough. You were so darling. Riff Raff had taken notice of every time you came to check on him, kept him company while he was busy at work, and loved him when Frank wouldn't.

~Magenta and Riff Raff are known to be secretive and mysterious. They don't let anybody into their duo. They can practically read each other's minds by exchanging one brief look. They aren't just related, they're linked and inseparable. Neither of them fell for you first, it was a silent mutual agreement that they both loved you.

~At first, they were annoyed by you. Just another human to toy with. They were suspicious anytime you offered emotional support, or anytime you offered to do something for them after they had a long day of work. You were so sweet that it was suspicious.

~Eventually, they found that you were just as kind as you seemed. You didn't command them as though they were nothing but lowly servants, you always asked them politely if you needed something, and spent genuine quality time with them. The siblings had full trust in you, especially when you had seen through Frank's fabulous personality to find the ugly, self-entitled brat that he truly was.

~One does occasionally grow jealous of the other. They sometimes fight for your attention like it's a competition to be the favorite. Riff Raff tends to do this more than Magenta does, as he can be more insecure than she.

~Your loving comfort did nothing to dull the ache of their homesick hearts. They needed to go home, but they couldn't leave you on Earth. Magenta and Riff Raff couldn't be happy on Earth with you, but they also couldn't be happy on Transsexual without you.

~What else could they do? They had to take you with them. Surely you'd be happy there. You're too special to stay on Earth, anyway. The siblings would miss you, wouldn't you miss them, as well? They came to the conclusion that they needed to take you with them- you'd love it there! Such a beautiful planet.

~But there was no way you'd come willingly. You'd never leave Earth, you'd be terrified. They had to think of a way to coax you into it- verbal communication would be the easiest, but it would all be fun and games until it came time to actually leave Earth. You'd back out of it fearfully. They'd have to find out a way to get you to follow through.

~One night during dinner, Magenta was paying close attention to you while you ate. At first, she had been staring intently to see if you liked the food, but then it hit her. She was forming a plan in her brain, and Riff Raff could practically see the gears turning in her mind. Why couldn't they take the easy way and put something in your food to keep you quiet for awhile...? Magenta found herself to be amused that they had been planning all this time, when the answer was right in front of them.

~Her eyes slowly drifted to Riff Raff to get his attention. At once, he returned the glance and watched as her eyes flicked to your meal. Riff Raff seemed to get the gist, and was fully on board with the idea when she told him about it later. Of course, they didn't want to cause too much trouble by doing this, who knows what could happen if they used a drug that your body didn't know.

~Before they put their plan into action, they decided to wait long enough for you to not suspect them. While you loved them dearly, you also knew they were...a certain way. You could never fully trust them, and they knew that.

~A couple of months went by.

~Every now and then when you went out, you'd see a person who you thought vaguely resembled Magenta or Riff Raff. Magenta had a better chance at not being spotted by you, as you rarely saw her without makeup and she could simply disguise herself by not wearing it while she was following you from a distance.

~Riff Raff was easier to spot- tall and lanky, recognizable face. He was more careful when he went out of the castle to watch you go about your life.

~They saw everything you did. Everyone you talked to, everything you bought, everywhere you went. They were careful with this, of course. They couldn't be too obvious.

~If by chance you had any sexual relations with anyone, they wouldn't care.

~But the very moment they saw you growing very fond of somebody, fond enough to let them into your heart and to treat them softly with pure love, they wouldn't allow it.

~Jealousy wouldn't be necessary. They wouldn't have a reason to be jealous, because that person would be easily taken care of. They're very confident in their abilities to rid useless people off of the planet.

~The very night they put their plan into action, they made a "special" dinner for you. A new food, and of course, something in the food to make you "sleep" (unconscious).

~You didn't even notice the difference between chicken and the special meat they fed to you, but you did notice their eyes staring at every bite you took, and slowly glancing away when you noticed them looking from the corner of their eyes.

~You also noticed that your lover had suddenly been rather distant- as in, you never heard from them again. You never connected them to the dinner Magenta made for you. You'd never know what you ate, or rather, who you ate.

~Not long after your meal, you began to feel frighteningly dizzy and exhausted.

~Magenta walked you to your room so you could lay down, while Riff Raff was busy taking care of (killing) Columbia, Frank, Rocky, and shooing the three unwelcome humans out of the Castle.

~Meanwhile, Magenta took the time to lay with you and have you to herself while Riff Raff was busy. She stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, treated you like royalty.

~By the time you were unconscious, the Castle had taken off. You woke up confused, disoriented, and with a horrific pounding migraine.

~You also woke up with Magenta's velvet soft tongue between your thighs and Riff Raff's hands caressing your body.

~They halted their actions when they saw you felt unwell, instead taking care of you to stabilize you before you discovered your new surroundings.

~You had an instant freak out, and in response, they watched you in an eerily calm manner, explaining how you'd be happy here. How you'd grow to love it, how you belonged here and not on the planet you were born on amongst all of the boring humans.

~They never took you home.

~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[nalyra-dreaming]

you said to an anon yesterday that lestat would probably feel relieved that louis is with armand as it means that louis will be protected. what did you mean by that?:) how does armand protect him in the books and in the show as well?

i’ve only read iwtv so i only know that much really. i’m sorry if this makes it a silly question, i just don’t absorb books very well or show material as my brain gets muddled. also, this isn’t armand hate, i adore him:)

All good. :)

Armand is a very complicated character, and he often does things that he thinks are right, even though others may see it... differently. :)

Lestat goes to Armand to ask for blood in the book, but also tells him about Louis (and Claudia), in a desperate attempt to save their lives. Because he knows of the old rules, he knows Armand. When Armand falls for Louis there it means that he will not kill Louis. That is an aspect of that in (the) IWTV (book).

Later on there is a phase where Louis lives with Armand in New York, at Trinity Gate. It's after Lestat has let the "ever-multiplying" vampires drive him from NOLA... because he is loathe to kill them. Armand had roused him in his coma once to get rid of the riff raff, but later, after Merrick Lestat does not like going after them anymore:

This is from "Prince Lestat" (which Rolin has already stated to take from):

The mavericks multiplying everywhere were causing trouble for one another, and their gang fights and brawls have made life ugly for the rest of us. And they think nothing of trying to burn with re or decapitate any other blood drinker who gets in their way. It is chaos. But who am I to police these preternatural nincompoops? When have I ever been on the side of law and order? I’m supposed to be the rebellious one, l’enfant terrible. So I let them drive me away out of the cities, and even from New Orleans, I let them drive me away. My beloved Louis de Pointe du Lac left soon after, and from that time on lived in New York with Armand. Armand keeps the island of Manhattan safe for them—Louis, Armand, and two young blood drinkers, Benjamin and Sybelle, and whoever else joins them in their palatial digs on the Upper East Side. No surprises there. Armand has always been skilled at destroying those who offend him. He was after all for hundreds of years the coven master of the old Children of Satan in Paris, and he’d burn to ashes any blood drinker who didn’t obey the vicious old rules of those miserable religious fanatics. He’s autocratic, ruthless. Well, he can have that mission."

Armand protects Louis. Armand keeps New York "safe". I think we are looking at a mix of Merrick and PL era with the show's Dubai penthouse.

Armand protects Louis, even "from himself", too, as was stated rather plainly in season 1. It was also already said by Assad and the others (and I mean it's been clear now through the trailers and teasers) that Armand has at least influenced Louis' memories... probably to keep him from (fatally) painful ones. Armand is a big spell and mind gift user after all :)

I honestly think that all Armand has done/will be shown to have done to/with Louis was to protect him - in the way he saw fit.

That is how Armand, as a centuries old coven master operates - he deals with things as he sees fit.

Loving Louis... means Armand won't kill him. Will protect him, too.

Unfortunately (for Claudia, and others) it is as simple as that. Because Armand could not love her.

[hegoeshardasfuck]

shake it left, shake it right (fuck me through the night)

wordcount: 1K

tags: established relationship, mating cycles/in heat, hair pulling, biting, rough sex, porn with some plot

synopsis: Riff gets his shit fucking rocked

note: this one goes out to the Trolls fans, I see u, I hear u, heres some smut for the girlies with no Ao3 account. wrote this before i fully grasped the intensity of Floyd's queer-coding so uh, ignore the very starting paragraphs. if you enjoy consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52567057

The last time Floyd slept with a guy was when he was nineteen. He sort of decided to swing straight away after that, going after women because they were dying at his feet whether he liked it or not. Why not make use of that knowledge, just to see where it would get him.

It got him surrendered to Velvet and Veneer by a group of K-pop Trolls that had him absolutely enraptured is where it got him. A kiss, some tantalizing words he did not understand, and he'd be willing to go anywhere they asked him too. And that was used against him, brought to Mount Rageous and used as a drug for talent.

He retreated to Rock the second he could, his home away from home. The one place he felt safe enough to shed his vest despite gnarled scars from varying origins. Where he could tell dumb horny jokes with an impossibly explicit vocabulary and get an uproar of laughter instead of offended gasps. Where he could just be, even with Pop origins he felt a lot better in Rock.

Apparently he felt safe enough to slip into heat, a cycle he was sure he couldn't attain anymore considering the whole 'life force drained' thing that happened. But he could, and he wakes up with this twist in stomach and he obeys the heat under his skin before he can think about it.

"Riff," It's this long, expectant, whiny sound clawing it's way out of Floyd's throat. He slings himself against the drummer who near instantly picks up the heady scent, it makes him shiver.

"Yeah?" Riff answered with.

"It's that time of the month, no ones around," He keeps his words on Riff's ear, hand wrapping around his boyfriends tail, it twitches and furls. He's purring, a deep rumble in his chest he hasn't been able to shut off all morning. This was inevitable, he decides, having sex with his boyfriend of many months. The heat spurred it on just a bit, but it's been on his mind for a very long while.

Riff gives this nervous sound, this almost nervous sound, "I got a show babe."

Floyd lurches back from Riff, "How long is it gonna take?"

"Not super long, the average length," Riff answered with, "And then, after the show, we can do it."

"You can swear you know," Floyd answered with, he had the audacity to cock a hand on his hip. The motion made Riff freeze, a short circuit in his brain, "Just say fuck, it's hot."

"You're hot," was all Riff could supply in response to the statement.

===

It's Riff whose bending over backwards for Floyd.

It's Riff whose begging and pleading due to whatever freaky mode the heat put Floyd into it.

It's Riff whose losing a semblance of sanity and control under his boyfriend even though he was sure it'd be reverse.

"Say it again, louder," Floyd prompted, hands tracing across Riff's front as he went, tactfully sliding away from wherever it would spark pleasure. Avoiding any and every where that he guessed would make Riff go insane, just for fun, to get a grasp on what he'll be working with.

There's heavy panting before Riff can even form a syllable, "Please," It's a choked sound followed by a euphoric note as Floyd scrapes over those soft expanses of flesh with dulled claws. The motion leaves a searing trail of pleasure behind even as the same hand wrenches into Riff's hair at the base and yanks. He jerks further back against his crazed boyfriend and he's still heaving his breaths, near writhing.

"Good boy," The words ghost against Riff's neck alongside teeth so sharp they have to be artificial (they aren't, they aren't, they aren't, and Riff fucking loves his boyfriends fangs). He partially sinks down, swiping pin prick fangs across flesh and reveling in the way Riff's breath hitches in time with the hand working him.

The adrenaline from the show has long since been replaced, something entirely different rushing through Riff. Initially, Floyd was running hot, an impossible amount of degrees hot for a Pop Punk Troll. Now Riff feels like every single inch of his body is on fire, sparks bursting under his skin and barely appeased by the touch that Floyd is offering him.

He's ravenous, he barely registers himself as such with those softly spoken words worming into his brain. They're sugary sweet, probably because Floyd is Pop Punk, they make his brain feel full of cotton candy. All stuffed up and turning a blank whenever he tries to bring himself to beg louder so Floyd will hurry the fuck up and give him everything.

This should be reversed, deep in the roots of Riff's desperation he knows it should be the other way. That Floyd should be the one bitching and moaning and begging and pleading, but it isn't. No, Floyd is just barely edging Riff closer, holding onto him like he's a lifeline, nails digging into flesh. It's oddly euphoric, to be nearly torn into but not quite, to be nearly bit but not quite, it just shoots him into an entirely different state.

"C'mon sweetheart," Floyd urges quietly, words a snarl against Riff's ear, "You can cum for me."

He does nothing to shift his ministrations, nothing to speed up or slow down. Nothing at all aside from a tightening grip in Riff's hair, and apparently that's all it takes with the words to jolt him over the edge. His body jerks but Floyd holds him perfectly still, fangs still tracing over the crux of his throat, resting at his pulse. He doesn't let go even with the slick dripping down to his thighs, his breathing is labored yet quiet, a soft susurrus sound.

"Holy," Riff pauses to catch his breath, his entire body is shaking more than he thought possible, "Holy fuck."

"Ready for round two?" Floyd asked, already tracing along Riff's inner thigh expectantly.

Riff swallows thickly, "Round two?"

"I'm gonna be jacked up for a long time, Riff," Floyd purred, tapping his nails a little further up his boyfriends thigh, "If you need to get some water go ahead, but we'll be right back at it the second you enter this room."

Riff shudders at the snarled promise because he knows Floyd will go through.

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

West Side Story is set in the mid-1950s in the Upper West Side of Manhattan in New York City, then a multiracial, blue-collar neighborhood. The musical explores the rivalry between the Jets and the Sharks, two teenage street gangs of different ethnic backgrounds. The Sharks, who are recent migrants from Puerto Rico, and the Jets, who are white, vie for dominance of the neighborhood. The young protagonist, Tony, a former member of the Jets and best friend of the gang's leader, Riff, falls in love with Maria, the sister of Bernardo, the leader of the Sharks.

it is a musical. it is wonderful. it is relevant still today. Shakespeare and Bernstein, Soundheim, and Laurents. iconic

At the age of seventy, after years of consolidating his empire, the Great Lord Hidetora Ichimonji decides to abdicate and divide his domain amongst his three sons. Taro, the eldest, will rule. Jiro, his second son, and Saburo, his third son, will take command of the Second and Third Castles but are expected to obey and support their elder brother. Saburo defies the pledge of obedience and is banished.

It's beautiful. It's Kurosawa's biggest, most expensive film. It's about nuclear war and how technology has only made killing easier. It's about Kurosawa's fear that he was old and obsolete. It's an adaptation which asks what sins Lear had to commit to become king. This is the only version of King Lear where Goneril is implied to be a kitsune. (Or, where Albany is a kitsune, however you want to look at it)